Page 88 of Sweet Home Highlander
“For preferring water?”
Makenna groaned and looked skyward, as if for guidance from the heavens. “For lying to yerself! Ye’re miserable, and ye ken it. Everyone does.”
Niall spurred his horse into a walk, ready to return to Tarben Castle and bathe before sup. Normally, he would have spent some time in his studio. But he hadn’t been through the door in weeks. On his desk, he presumed, was the unfinished topaz ring he’d been in the middle of smithing before Aisla had left with Leclerc.
“What does it matter?” he asked Makenna, as she followed him. “I got over it before. I’ll do so again. In time.”
The words felt weightless and meaningless, and his sister must have sensed it as well.
“Ye never got over her before. Ye still love her.”
“I do. But she chose to leave. Again, I might add.”
“And ye simply let her go.” Her lips took on a sardonic turn. “AndI might addthat ye told her to go six years ago. Ye probably dunnae remember because ye were three sheets to the wind.”
He twisted in his saddle to face her. “It just so happens that ye cannae force someone to stay someplace they dunnae want to stay. Ye, Makenna, should ken a thing or two about that.”
He pressed his lips thin as soon as it was out. His sister sat back in her saddle, as if slapped. “What do ye mean by that?” she asked.
He sighed, knowing he’d avoided talking to her about it for too long as it was. “The Brodie. Yer husband. Ye say ye’re here to visit, but ye’ve made nae mention of when ye’re going back home. And ye’ve been here for weeks.”
“This is my home, isnae it?”
“Ye ken what I mean.” Niall took a breath as their horses descended the ridge, into the valley below. “Makenna, tell me what’s wrong.”
She rode in silence for a minute, concentrating, it appeared, on the horse’s descent down the ridge. When she finally answered, it was with the same guarded reluctance she’d shown every time someone mentioned the Brodie.
“Why must something be the matter? I’m here for Father. He was deathly ill, Niall.”
“And yer husband didnae wish to make the journey as well?”
The Brodie laird and the duke had been on affable terms for a long while, ever since Makenna’s wedding nine years before.
“He’s busy,” she replied.
Their horses slowed to a trot as they rode toward Tarben Castle. Indeed, as laird, her husband would have been busy. But it had been over two months since Makenna had arrived at Maclaren.
“Have ye heard from him at least?” he asked.
“’Twas never like that with us,” she said, her voice barely audible over the sounds of their horses.
“Then what is it like?” Niall asked, suddenly suspicious. Had Makenna come home to Maclaren for a reason beyond their father’s ill health? Had the Brodie done something to drive her away?
“A marriage. An alliance,” she answered. “One that will never be blessed with an heir.”
Niall increased his speed, to keep up with his sister, who had slapped the reins and shot off. The rest of the ride to the castle was kept at a speed that made conversation impossible. Niall mulled over his sister’s comment about not being blessed with an heir. When a handful of years had passed and no news of a Brodie heir came to Maclaren, Niall had heard whispers. It was an uncomfortable subject, but as they arrived at Niall’s stables, he figured it would be best to clear the air and get it over with.
“Ye cannae bear children,” he said, once the mounts had been led away.
Makenna shook her head, refusing to look at him. It wasn’t like her, this timid version of his sister. “Nor do I wish to.”
“And the Brodie?”
Surely the man would want an heir. Someone to pass the title of laird to. Niall fleetingly considered the fact that he himself would have no heir to pass on Tarbendale. A chasm opened inside of him, unexpectedly, threatening to swallow him. He forced it closed. No matter. Evan and Finley had bairns aplenty, and Niall could leave the holding to one of his nephews.
Makenna slipped her arm in his as they walked toward the castle entrance. “I ken what ye’re doing. Ye’re trying to turn the conversation away from ye and Aisla.”
“Stop, Makenna,” he said, and he prayed it was firm enough to persuade her. “No’ everything can be cured by love alone. Or by wishes or what ifs. It seems as if we both ken that.”
